


jeux sans frontières

by foetend



Series: neither freer [1]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Constantin is a soft boy, Cousins, F/M, Horns, Loneliness, Masturbation, Pining, Pseudo-Incest, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unusual Erogenous Zones, do you get what i'm putting out there?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 05:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foetend/pseuds/foetend
Summary: Constantin could still remember the first time his darling cousin let him touch the mark on her face, the strange roots that marred her otherwise perfect skin. He recalled the warmth of her cheek and the soft line of her jaw still heavy with baby fat as he poked and prodded with his clumsy prepubescent fingers. He remembered how it made his face turn bright red when she looked at him, her eyes rounded and filled with shy curiosity when she asked him if her mark was ugly.





	jeux sans frontières

**Author's Note:**

> i literally just finished this game and decided to write this. apologies for any typos or weird phrasing, i'm my own editor and i'm terrible at it.

He was alone, something he found himself growing more content with as each day passed. His lungs were no longer shriveling in his chest, burning when the sickly black blood coursed in his veins, but still he found it hard to breathe as he laid on his side in his dark bedroom. Constantin turned onto his back, twisting himself in his silken sheets as his eyes traced constellations into the plaster of the ceiling. He ran a tentative finger over the flesh of his cheek, committing to memory the raised lines that grew more prominent with each day. He smiled faintly as his nail scratched a path from his jaw to this chin and thought fondly at how his skin was now more reminiscent of his beloved cousins'.

He paused, his index finger pressing gently on a new pulsing vein that ran down his chin to his neck that had shown up just that morning, and sighed. De Sardet had left the night before to run some errand for whichever despot of the day decided to selfishly use her diplomacy skills to solve their problems. With a amiable pat on his cheek and reassuring words, she smiled and took along their old Master of Arms and the Naut whose ship had taken them to this damnable island in the first place.

He hated them. Her companions. How free they were to walk with her as equals and fight by her side as he, her oldest and dearest friend, was left to rot in his fancy velvet throne listening to dry speeches about budgets and bills of sale. Constantin scratched at the vein on his throat, frowning as he grit his teeth at the thought of his adorable cousin sleeping on the ground alongside the two men in particular she had chosen to travel with.

Kurt, Constantin decided, he could trust somewhat. The mercenary was far too proud of his strong morals and strength of will to try anything. But that _Naut_, he scowled as he pictured Vasco with his chiseled cheekbones and sun-tanned skin. Constantin pushed the foul thought out of his mind. The night was far too short to waste on such unpleasant fantasies.

De Sardet. His brave, beautiful, loving cousin. Constantin's hand drifted lower, disappearing under his wrinkled sheets as he continued to list every complimentary descriptive word he could think of that fit his dearest cousin. He ran through every word he knew and it still felt like it wasn't enough.

His other hand, previously lying limp by his side, snaked its way into his hair. Constantin touched one of his strange new horns, so much like wood that he was unsure whether it really was a horn or if it was more like a branch, and shuddered at the sensation that ran down his spine. He was surprised, to say the least, when he first discovered how sensitive his new appendages were. He had been listening halfheartedly to some boring speech a week earlier when he scratched at his scalp and touched the base of one of his horns by accident. He had gasped so loudly, so vehemently, that the poor accountant had thought the governor had been particularly shocked by the new higher proposed prices for ammo that she promptly apologized and left to work on a new pricing plan immediately, bowing and curtsying her way out of the room with quickly muttered excuses.

Constantin groaned, frustrated with his lack of focus. His father had always chastised him for never finishing one thought before starting on another. The hand under the covers worked at the ties of his sleeping trousers, fingers deftly sliding under the waistband when he was satisfied they were loose enough for what he had planned. With his other hand, he curled his fingers over several horns that were close together, taking in as many as he could. The tingling at the base of his neck grew more steady, a soft pounding roar building in his ears as he rubbed his fingertips over the porous surface of his horns.

De Sardet. De Sardet. His beloved cousin – ah, but not by blood they had discovered recently. Stolen from her homeland, a changeling who wormed her way into his heart from the very moment they met as small children. Constantin could still remember the first time she let him touch the mark on her face, the strange roots that marred her otherwise perfect skin. He recalled the warmth of her cheek and the soft line of her jaw still heavy with baby fat as he poked and prodded with his clumsy prepubescent fingers. He remembered how it made his face turn bright red when she looked at him, her eyes rounded and filled with shy curiosity when she asked him if her mark was ugly.

No. It was everything else – the smoke that choked the streets, the tall grim buildings that surrounded them _caged_ them in, the adults who whispered and laughed with false humor behind closed doors – the world around them was ugly but she, she, _De Sardet_ his cousin _his one and only_, she was never ugly. Stuttering in his awkward childish voice, he told as her as much and felt his heart burst as she grinned from ear to ear at his response. No, she could never be ugly. Never.

Constantin moaned, pressing his head back into his pillow, as both his hands busied themselves with bringing him closer to that wonderful peak he sought so desperately. His mind was swirling with thoughts of her and her alone. De Sardet, her mouth pursed and pink as she suppresses a smile. The way she tucks her hair under her feathered hat. The way she wrinkles her nose when she suspects someone is lying to her.

Constantin arched into his hand, swallowing a groan as he pumped himself faster. He stroked his horns more frantically, the skin of the pads of his fingers rubbed raw from the rough texture. Tomorrow they would ache and pulse under his leather gloves. A quiet reminder of his inability to deny himself his basest pleasures.

Drinking was a given for the second son of an emotionally unavailable nobleman. Drinking was easy. Cards were harder as Constantin lacked a natural talent for games. Girls were even easier when you had the amount of money he did but as he grew older Constantin found himself wanting more. They were never clever enough, never had the loving look in their eyes he wanted to see so desperately as he bent them in half and rutted all of his frustrations away. They, no matter how close in appearance they might be to his darling cousin, were most certainly _not_ her. No one was.

The roar in his ears grew louder as his mind shifted from one scenario to another. De Sardet bent over his desk, the flesh of her ass bared for him like a precious jewel. De Sardet, tangled in his sheets and moaning his name. De Sardet accepting the power he was gathering for them to share. Constantin bit back the urge to scream as he pictured them side by side, god-king and god-queen, their skin marked with the colors of the earth and punctured with thorns. They would not fear death because death would not be able to look upon them without weeping in envy.

Constantin came, a rush of joy and shame wetting the front of his trousers, at the thought of De Sardet, her head bent under a crown of twisted branches and her naked body painted in the blood of those who dared to stand in their way. It didn't matter to him who it was, holy man or scholar, all would fall under their feet as they wiped out the old gods and took their rightful places as the new. These nations, warring petty children playing tug-of-war over their broken toys, would crumble and he would not even blink an eye at their loss. They were meaningless in the face of the power he was taking, ripping, from the earth.

It was just there, lying in the dirt, this power that could change not just Teer Fradee but the whole world, and no one was doing anything about it. They chose to fight over the surface when there was a veritable gold mine underneath their ignorant noses. Constantin wiped his soiled hand across the surface of his now ruined sheets, leaving behind another mess for a wide-eyed servant to find in the morning, and closed his eyes.

He could feel it, pulsing, writhing, buried beneath the stones they piled up around them in grotesque displays of wealth. The prisons they left behind followed them to the new world, only these were pale imitations of the overbearing houses that polluted their homeland and poisoned their blood. But here he could change things. Here, as soon as he gathered enough power from that doddering old god, he could tear down these walls with the flick of a wrist. Then after he dismantled and destroyed every cursed object that came from the land of his father, he would cross the sea and begin to do the same to the place he was born. With his bare hands, he would rip from the land everything touched by man and erect in its stead the home of gods.

Constantin smiled sleepily as he began imagining the home he would build with his beloved goddess. There would always be a fire going and warmth would seep from every room. There would be no yelling, no pointed silence, no lying. The face you showed would be your true one and it would be beautiful, honest, and full of love. A familiar ache pulled at his ribs and Constantin flopped over to sleep on his stomach, hoping that the pressure would help him ignore the loneliness that crawled back into his head. He clenched his jaw as he remembered the wet spot at the front of his trousers. The damp fabric stuck to his groin, chilling the skin beneath in a grim reminder of his shame.

Constantin buried his face into his pillow, breathing in deep as he thought of the curve of her neck and the way she smelled after traveling. He returned to the familiar specter of his beloved cousin to chase away the darkness that constantly stalked the corners of his waking thoughts. The night was too short for unpleasant things. It could wait til morning, he decided as he finally fell into sleep.


End file.
